Robyn Hogan

At dusk we climbed Pergamum’s acropolis and, as the valley darkened, we sat in the ruins of Athena’s temple eating our fruit.

Flute notes trilled; the virgin goddess wreathed through the broken columns. Translucent, she knelt, touching the ground. A gnarled olive tree sprang up between the tumbled stones, leaves rustling.

 

Then her owl of wisdom hooted, terrifying us.

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